


Charlie Wins a Factory

by FreelanceMem



Category: Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)
Genre: Altered Lore, a different take with different actions from the characters, character cast revamp, inspired by the original film, is it set in the 70's? your guess is as good as mine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreelanceMem/pseuds/FreelanceMem
Summary: Charlie is just trying to get by in this world, trying to learn and understand as he is young. He does not understand what made the world stop for Wonka's tour, but he did understand what a grand opportunity it is. He is presented with an option. Though his luck was so high that he made it into the factory, he is not sure what the probability of winning is, since he doesn't like math.It seems the friends he meets on this interesting journey have similar desires with different motives.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. A Day in the Life of Charlie

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy what is a very different perspective on the characters and events of the story. This is not an edited retelling of the original story and rather tells a series of events that diverge from the original's goal.  
> We all know who wins the factory, but the ending is never as important as the journey it took to get there. I would like a different ending.

The wintry cold stung the fingers of children who bustled to school. Blowing onto cold gloved hands, they hurried to the main building in hopes that its walls might protect them to some extent. They became a group as they pushed through the gate and followed the walkway. Moving synonymously, they just seemed to be working together, looking towards the same goal together.

As soon as Charlie stepped through the door, he felt a minute bit of relief. He took a breath, letting it out as a white mist. He rubbed his hands together as he followed the flow through the main hall to the adjacent halls. He broke free from the flow of children as he reached his first classroom.

Slipping inside, he took a breath of relief. Nothing beat the warmth of a classroom. Teachers did not like working in the cold, so they would use anything they could to make it warmer. He quickly moved out of the doorway as other kids moved in behind him. They scattered from the group to reach their assigned seats.

Charlie sat down and leaned over his desk. He took a deep breath and let it out in such a huff. He leaned his head down on his arm, letting himself rest. All of the weight of his walk to school bled through his arm and into his desk. At least, he imagined it to be so.

It felt as if he had only just put his head down when he heard the teacher rise from his desk chair. “Class, it’s time to get started. Please open your books to page thirty two. We have a lot to cover today, so please pay attention,” Mr. Schwartz said.

Charlie took the book out of his desk and set it out to look at it. He opened to the page, where the crisp pages showed pictures of historical events. He looked over the black and white pictures, blinking tiredly. It was hard to focus on them, as the faces became something of a blur.

As his eyes scanned the gray pictures of the page, Charlie’s mouth opened in a relaxed yawned. It was much warmer here than at home. It felt like all the hardness of the bed was leaking from his bones as the air here gave him rest. His eyes wanted to close, but he fought so hard. He just focused on the pictures, trying to identify faces so he would not drift off to sleep.

“Charlie Bucket!” a loud crack awakened the classroom.

Charlie’s head snapped up to look wide eyed at his teacher. Mr. Schwartz was glaring him down, with a ruler clasped in two hands. He had that mean tenseness like he wanted to use it. Every other student was dead silent.

“Is my classroom boring you?” Mr. Schwartz asked, his voice shaking with rage.

“No, Mr. Schwartz,” he responded reflexively.

“You find something tiring about history?” Mr. Schwartz went on.

“No, Mr. Schwartz. I think history is fascinating,” Charlie relented. He really did like history, he just wished the class was not so stressful. Maybe if it was later in the day, he would feel more awake.

“Then tell me, Mr. Bucket. What reason do you have to nod off in my classroom?” Mr. Schwartz said with a scathing tone.

Charlie glanced at the other kids. He could see a variation of faces. Some were glancing at him with just as much hesitation. Others were looking at him quite openly, staring and gawking with wonder at what spectacle the teacher would make of Charlie. He caught the eye of one girl at the other end of class, who had been humiliated by another teacher. It was not Mr. Schwartz. It was not Charlie. But Charlie did not think that it was so unlikely that what happened to her could not happen to him.

He met Mr. Schwartz’s eye, hoping that he could traverse this carefully. “No reason, Mr. Schwartz. I am simply tired from the walk to school,” he explained, “I wouldn’t nod off in history class.”

Mr. Schwartz leaned back against his desk. He looked much calmer than before, though still disappointed. The grip on his ruler was much looser and Charlie thought he might have actually avoided it.

“Tired from walking to school,” Mr. Schwartz spoke quietly. He too a breath, eyes glancing over his students. “Listen here, kids. If you are tired from walking to school, then remember this. Remember that parents are tired from working all day. People are tired from walking to work. Your ancestors were worn to the bone working tirelessly to make ends meat. You have the privilege to come here…and to learn. You come here to become…what they couldn’t. You will have opportunities open to you, unlike any your forefathers did. If you pay closer attention in history class, you will learn from history that not trudging forth will get you nowhere. You’ll simply remain where you are, as the rabbit lost the race.”

“The rabbit lost the race, sir?” one wide-eyed boy asked the teacher. Charlie remembered that this boy’s face had been staring at him so openly. As if he did not understand what might happened, or he wanted a full view of it.

“The rabbit and the hare,” Mr. Schwartz glared down at the boy, “It’s a story we tell to summarize a great amount of history. It does the facts of history injustice. It forgets many things they don’t think to tell you.” He looked back at Charlie, who stiffened. “I want you to remember these days, Charlie,” the teacher said calmly, “I want you to remember how hard it was to come to school. Because when you’re older and you’ve taken better opportunities in life than you have now, you’ll look back and be glad you know your own history.” With that, the teacher pushed off of his desk and walked around it to the blackboard. “Let’s continue from the next paragraph.”

Charlie blinked at the pages in front of him. He was so glad it was over, but he wondered why there were tears in his eyes. He bit them back, fighting and trying to breathe calmly. He did not want to upset Mr. Schwartz again.

But what did Mr. Schwartz mean by it, he wondered. If he was to be glad for today, then was today something important? He wondered if he was missing something special within the blurry words on the page they were on.

Then again, perhaps he meant specifically today. Today was the present, but Charlie knew that tomorrow it would become history. When he was grown and away from adults like Mr. Schwartz, this day would be a piece of his own history. It was nothing noteworthy if they were not learning something special in class. Nobody else would remember it. It was just going to be in Charlie’s head for the rest of time.

So, what did he mean? Charlie wondered if what Mr. Schwartz said was simply so profound that he did not have the means to decipher it. He was young and he knew he did not know everything. After all, that was why kids his age were in school, to learn things.

He brushed away his tears and picked up his pencil to take down notes. If any of this was particularly special to learn or not, it would likely be on the quiz on Monday. It would not be like Charlie to disappoint his mother and father with poor marks. Not that his grades were all that fantastic, but at least he got by.

When the bell rang and the kids were dismissed, they filed their way out to play. It was so cold, too cold for Charlie’s thin coat and gloves. Most of the other kids had clothes that were warm enough for the cold, but some kids like Charlie were not so well-off.

A wordless form of kindness came in the form of Mr. Schwartz turning a blind eye to these kids remaining in the classroom. Most other teachers chased their students out and locked the rooms. Mr. Schwartz at least understood that some kids needed the warmth and to rest their heads while they were not studying. Charlie was especially grateful, since Mr. Schwartz was thus not the type of person to use this quiet chance to confront him about earlier. He could be left alone to rest before the next class period.

When lunch period came around, Charlie hugged his lunch tin to his chest and followed the crowd. They seated themselves in the cafeteria and each began to sort out their meals. Charlie opened his tin to find the left over stew. It had been delightful when it was hot, but he doubted it would be very good while cold.

Charlie was not ungrateful though, and did not hesitate to fill his hungry tummy. The other kids were chatting and bustling about. Most of them had pretty lunch boxes and sacks to carry lovely carved sandwiches and small boxes with pasta meals.

He ignored their banter, at least until he had finished. His family did usually talk during dinner, but he never felt like talking during lunch. He had not felt right about his lunches since some kids pointed out that they thought his lunch was funny some years ago. He just wanted to eat his lunch in peace so he could get on with the day just as peacefully.

“Hey Charlie!” a familiar voice came from down the table.

Charlie looked over at the round face with big round eyes that had stared at him during class. The boy stared at him with the same look, but now surrounded by other children who stared at him in the same way. He paused, unsure of how to respond to the call, since they were not friends who ate together.

“What?” Charlie decided to be curt.

“Do you think Mr. Schwartz will punish you next time?” the boy asked. All his friends’ faces melted into a conglomerate of people eager to see somebody else’s pain.

“What?” Charlie was not sure how else to respond.

“Do you think he might even kill you if you fall asleep?” the boy continued. His wry little smirk gave away his attentions, as his friends snickered along with him.

“No, he won’t do that,” Charlie went back to clearing away his things.

“Why not?” the boy was grinning from ear to ear, “I heard from Chastity Banx that he once set a girl’s hand on fire, because she would never stop talking in his class.”

Charlie’s head whipped around. Set on fire? That seemed bizarrely out of character for the teacher. “Mr. Schwartz might not be pleasant, but he’s not an indecent person. He’s certainly not cruel.”

“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Bucket,” all heads whipped around to see Mr. Schwartz approach the table, “You should clear up your things. You there…” Mr. Schwartz pointed to the boy who had called out Charlie. Now his face was pale as paper. “Principal’s office.”

“But why?!” the boy spat loudly, “What did I do?”

“Spreading lies,” Mr. Schwartz said, “It’s called slander. If you had spent any time in history class taking notes, you would know that word already.”

“But Mr. Schwartz!” the boy begged.

“Save it!” Mr. Schwartz barked as he headed out of the cafeteria, with the boy trailing behind him.

It was the last class of the day. Charlie was growing just as eager as the rest of the class. They were sneaking glances at the clock, trying their best not to upset their teacher over the fact that they were looking forward to being dismissed. Paying more attention to that than to studies might put him in a worse mood than he was already in.

When the bell rang, there was practically a chorus of cheers. Charlie was silent, though excitedly packing his bag. He hurried to get it closed and throw it onto his back.

“Not you, Charlie,” his attention was grabbed by the teacher and his heart dropped.

As other kids quickly filed out, Charlie slowly made his way to the teacher. He paused just three feet away, shuffling back and forth on his feet. He hoped Mr. Schwartz might make this quick so he could run home.

“I heard what happened in the cafeteria,” Mr. Schwartz told him.

“Well, you were there, weren’t you?” Charlie asked nervously. He worried that Mr. Schwartz might be upset that he was called unpleasant.

“I think you need to focus more in history class,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “One important lesson to learn in history is to pick your battles.”

“Pick my battles?” Charlie studied his teacher’s face.

“Yes, Charlie if you pick every fight, then you are likely to lose them. You must pick wisely,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “You have nothing left to stand for if you have no legs to stand on.”

“I don’t think I was picking a battle by saying what I said,” Charlie explained.

“No, I think you meant well,” the teacher relented, “I think you’re a good boy, Charlie. I think like many boys and girls your age, you want to be very good. You want to say the good things. I commend you for that.”

“That Rupert isn’t a very good boy,” Charlie tried diverting the attention.

“What Rupert did was unkind,” Mr. Schwartz clicked his tongue, “Sometimes we come across people who have few or no good influences. A boy his age can’t learn to be good if he doesn’t learn good things, can he?”

Charlie shook his head, “No sir.”

“That’s why I stepped in,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “I had to teach him to be better.”

“That’s good of you, Mr. Schwartz,” Charlie gave him a nod.

“But don’t think that somebody will always be there,” Mr. Schwartz’s tone became stern, “You pick a battle you cannot fight, then you’re going to lose. Teachers won’t always be there to help you.”

“Isn’t that why we tell the teachers?” Charlie asked.

“No, Charlie,” the teacher sighed, “Unfortunately, life isn’t that easy. I know the school wants you kids to tell teachers when things happen, but you’re smart. You ought to know that when a teacher hears a complaint, it’s all a he-said-she-said debacle.”

“Well…” Charlie tried to come up with a rebuttal but was unsure of what to say.

“They say you should tattle, but in most cases you shouldn’t,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “Most times, it’s worth letting go. It’s worth not creating more trouble for yourself over.”

“But, Mr. Schwartz, if we don’t tell anybody, then nobody will know,” Charlie explained.

“And what good would knowing do?” the teacher asked.

“I can get help if I tell a teacher,” Charlie told him with a firm determination.

Mr. Schwartz shook his head sadly, “They tell you that, but as I said…it’s a he-said-she-said situation. And what of history?”

“What about it?” Charlie asked.

“Well, the Europeans told America that there were people dying in a war,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “And America didn’t help.”

“But didn’t we help? We sent…supplies and we sent troops?” Charlie pressed.

“Not for a long time,” Mr. Schwartz sighed, “America did nothing for a long time. Just sent weapons and supplies.”

“That’s helping isn’t it? If the Europeans had not said anything, then America would not have joined. Right?” Charlie asked.

“What difference did it make, I wonder?” Mr. Schwartz asked.

“What do you mean?” Charlie pressed his brow inward.

“Tell me, Charlie. Do you think that those people felt helped when Americans didn’t send help for all that time before?” Mr. Schwartz asked.

“No, but sometimes it takes a while to send help,” Charlie insisted.

“No, America was able. America was able to help. There just wasn’t an interest until later,” Mr. Schwartz explained.

Charlie frowned. He did not understand. What did Mr. Schwartz mean by it? It was far more confusing than what he told Charlie during class.

“That’s the thing about asking people for help, Charlie,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “If they’re helping you, they want something. If you don’t interest them, then you’re on your own. That’s the reality of this world, and I think you need to understand that now.”

Charlie was silently trying to understand this. Why was it only being told to him now?

“I don’t want to tell you what to do the next time you run into another situation,” Mr. Schwartz explained, “But I do want you to pick your battles more carefully.”

“I will, Mr. Schwartz,” Charlie relented.

“Good boy,” the teacher nodded to him, “Run along now.”

Charlie did as he was told and ran from school. He hurried past the old gates and turned down the street. He followed the path to the brick walk that turned downhill. Hoards of people gathered blocked his path so he slowed to a walk.

As he weaved through the crowd, his ears picked up on a voice on the television, “And Mr. Wonka himself will be making a public appearance!”

Charlie paused, curious to know more. He knew the name Wonka from the very famous chocolate factory. After all, it was once the thing that made this small city’s economy boom, or at least that was what his grandfather said.

He made his way towards the sound of the television, eager to know more. He pushed his way to the front, standing next to another school boy a little younger than himself.

“Mr. Wonka has stated that there will be a total of five golden tickets distributed,” the anchorman explained, “And those lucky five who find the tickets will be give a grand tour of Willy Wonka’s facility in the small city of Burmafield.”

“That’s us! That’s our city!” a woman spoke so excitedly that she accidentally shook Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie did not mind, so he ignored it. He wanted to focus on what the anchorman would say.

“Mr. Wonka intends to give the kids a chance to win a lifetime supply of chocolates and a large cash award!” the anchorman’s eyes widened and he leaned towards the paper he was reading with surprise and interest, “Only one of the five winners will be chosen!”

“Wow,” Charlie muttered, “I wonder how they’ll find the golden tickets.”

“In the chocolates boy!” a woman patted his shoulder.

“Wow,” Charlie turned his head as many people behind them quickly started to swarm the nearest candy shop.

“You should pop in and grab yourself a candy bar,” the woman patted his shoulder again.

“I don’t have a dollar for a bar,” Charlie relented. He immediately regretted saying it. He was not sure why he felt so guilty for telling them, but it felt like he should not have said it.

“Here boy,” his head whipped around as a strange older man walked over to pull a wallet out of his pocket. He put a dollar in Charlie’s hand with a warm smile. “A boy like yourself should have the chance to try. Go grab yourself a bar.”

“Thanks mister! Thank you!” Charlie could barely move from the spot, his was so excited that he could explode in every direction.

“You just make sure to enjoy that chocolate,” the man patted his arm.

“I will! I’ll share it with grandpa! He likes chocolate too!” Charlie was buzzing with delight at splitting the chocolate between his elderly grandparents and his parents.

“What a good boy,” the man ruffled his hair before moving on his way.

Charlie headed into the candy shop, weaving through the people. It was usually the kind of place that other children would swarm to. Now it was almost packed with adults. He was not too familiar with the store, since it had been a while since the last time he came here with his grandfather. But he managed to move around the lollipops and get to the line that was forming, where people were demanding Wonka bars.

“Everyone! Everyone!” the candy shop keeper raised his hands as he raised his voice, “Everybody listen!”

Silence came slowly as the voices tuned down. The shop keep looked around at the patrons with a worried look on his face. Charlie felt for him and wished he could offer some comfort. The candy shop keeper seemed like the type of fellow who got along very well with his customers, but this was an audience of different proportions.

“I would be happy to sell you candy, even Wonka bars. However, we only have so much in stock,” the shop keep explained.

“Then I’ll buy all your stock!” a woman cried out, waving a gold chained wallet in the air.

“No you won’t!” a man declared, “That’s not fair!”

“Quiet! Quiet!” the shop keep raised his hands again and the people settled to a murmur.

“I heard on the news what you heard,” the shop keep relented, “And I understand you are excited for the golden tickets, however this was only just announced!”

“So?” the woman with the gold chained wallet spat.

“So, you will have to wait for the next shipment. I have been made aware of this incoming shipment and we must wait for it. As of now, I only have one box of Wonka bars in stock,” the shop keep gestured to a box with Wonka labeled bars behind him, “And I can promise you none of them have a golden ticket.”

“Then when is the new shipment coming in?” another man asked.

“Our Wonka bars will be restocked on Monday,” he explained, “If the news reporter had finished his report, then you would have known already that all shops will not be receiving these special bars to sell until Monday. It is being made fair for everyone to participate, so you will all have the chance to buy Wonka bars.”

“But what if this lady comes in trying to buy the whole stock?!” the man who had protested before gestured angrily at the woman with the fancy wallet.

“At my store specifically, we will have a limit. Due to demands, I believe it is only fair that every person has a chance, so we are limiting how many bars you may buy to three.”

“Three?!” several people shouted incredulously.

Charlie looked at them and their bizarre faces. To think that they were going to buy all three Wonka bars each of them. Or that they planned to buy more Wonka bars than three.

“Yes, three,” the shop keep explained, “Mr. Wonka wants this to be a fair distribution and I agree with him. If you want Wonka bars, you may come here and buy no more than three bars on Monday.”

“This is insulting,” the woman with the fancy wallet scoffed.

“Please understand that we are not stocked for this announcement upon its day,” the shop keep explained, “I will be opening at nine am on Monday. Until then, please feel free to peruse any of our other candies.”

With that, a wave of muttering slowly made its way out the door. With people disappearing, Charlie was free and clear to peruse the shop. Well, he could still enjoy a chocolate. It would be just as delightful to share a chocolate with his family.

He put the dollar on the counter and said, “One Wonka bar please.”

“You want a Wonka bar?” the shop keep leaned on the counter.

“Yes please. The dark chocolate if you have it,” he requested.

“You did hear that we don’t have any bars with golden tickets, didn’t you?” the shop keep asked.

“I did sir,” Charlie nodded, “I was very excited, but that’s alright. I’d like a chocolate bar to share with my grandpa and nans.”

The man smiled, the muscles of his face pushing up his bushy graying mustache. He turned around and pulled a bar from the box on a shelf, then set it on the counter. Charlie pushed the dollar towards him, but the shop keep pushed it back.

“This event was meant for little boys and girls like yourself,” the shop keep said softly, “You should be able to try your hand at getting a golden ticket as well.”

“I know, but I’d like to buy some chocolate today though,” Charlie pleaded, “I want to share it with my grandparents. It’d really make my grandpa happy.”

The shop keep slid the bar to Charlie, “Here. Take the bar. It’s got no golden ticket, but it’s got the chocolate you crave. Good little boys should be rewarded for being good. Not greedy like the…” He paused, chewing on his bottom lip. He looked Charlie in the eye. “You go home and enjoy this candy.”

“But mister,” Charlie was hesitant to take the bar when he had not paid for it. It seemed silly, but being given a dollar seemed like a more common kindness than being given a chocolate bar. “Isn’t wanting a chocolate bar now rather than Monday a greed?” he asked.

“It’s greedy,” the man chuckled, “And why would you think that?”

“My teacher Mrs. Mulvich told me that when you want for something you don’t need, then you’re being greedy,” Charlie explained.

“Well,” the shop keep paused to think, “Who did you say you were sharing this with?”

“My grandpa,” Charlie answered, “I’ll give some to my nans and my father and mother too. They all like chocolate, but my grandpa loves chocolate.”

“You want to share this chocolate and make him happy?” the shop keep asked.

“Yes,” Charlie nodded.

“I think that when you care about somebody, you have a need to see them happy,” the shop keep took the candy bar off the counter and placed it in Charlie’s hand, “Take this bar as a gift for the family. You need it today. And then Monday after school, you can come with your dollar and buy a new one to share with your friends.”

Charlie hugged the bar to his chest and slowly took the dollar bill of the counter. It still felt wrong. Shops were not supposed to just give you their goods.

“Thanks, mister,” he said, pausing to make sure the man knew it was genuine.

“Of course,” the man chuckled with a small smile, “I just hope there won’t be so many adults in here on Monday that the kids can’t have a candy bar after school.”

“Well, maybe they’ll buy the candy bars for their kids,” Charlie shrugged, “They have families to share with anyways.”

“You’re a good kid,” the shop keep gestured to the door, “Run along now, before it gets dark.”

“Thank you sir!” Charlie barked one last time before he hurried out into the cold air.


	2. The Bucket Home

The little old house sat up on top of a hill overlooking several other homes. He hurried past the brick walks leading to the other small homes and rushed through the old door.

“Mum! I’m home!” he called out as he stepped through the door.

“Charlie, there is no need to yell,” his mother called from the kitchen area.

Charlie made his way around the crumbling old brick wall to the kitchen itself. He set his bag upon the table as he made his way over to his mother. He wrapped his arms around her skirted waist and pressed his cheek against her.

“Hello Charlie,” his mother patted his head, “How was your day?”

“I’ve wanted to come home all day!” he told her.

“Had a rough day, sweetie?” she asked.

“Yea,” he spoke in a softer voice.

“Well, I’m baking some fresh bread for tonight. What do you think about that?” she asked.

He pulled back to look up at her and smile, “That sounds lovely.”

“Have some nice bread to go with stew tonight,” she told him with a big smile.

“Ooh! Mum, look! I have a dollar!” he pulled the bill from his pocket to show her.

“Where did you get that, Charlie?” she asked. Knowing her, she was concerned about where he found it.

“A nice man in the street gave it to me. Said I should get a candy bar,” he said.

“A candy bar? Why would he give you a dollar to buy a candy bar?” she asked.

“Well, man on the TV said that Mr. Wonka is putting a prize in his chocolates. Five gold tickets!” he told her, excitement growing in his voice. It suddenly seemed a little real, that on Monday he might buy the magical golden ticket.

“Gold tickets? In chocolate?” she asked.

“I’ll bet it’s in the wrapper,” he relented, “He said that five winners get to have a tour of his chocolate factory, the one right here in our city!”

“That sounds lovely,” she nodded, “I wonder why he wouldn’t open a tour to the public.” She sounded a bit irritated when she said this.

“Well, the anchorman said that Mr. Wonka will choose one of the five winners to win a lifetime supply of chocolates and I think he said a cash prize,” he explained.

“That does sound really enticing,” his mother said, “But don’t get too swept up in the excitement.” She gently stroked his hair.

“I won’t,” he assured her, “But…the nice man said I should be able to try anyways. That’s why he gave me that dollar.”

“That was nice of him,” she nodded in approval, “So did you buy a chocolate?”

“Well, I tried to, but the shop keep said-” he was cut off as the door opened and a cheerful loud howl sounded from the door.

“Dad!” he sprinted to the front to excitedly greet the equally excited man at the door.

He was immediately lifted off of his feet and then set back down. His father grunted and rubbed his back, “Ooh, I need to stop doing that. You’re much bigger than you used to be.”

“Yes, you should stop,” Charlie giggled at him.

“How was your day, Charlie?” his father asked.

“Well…I guess it was okay. I couldn’t wait to come home though,” Charlie explained. He had to admit it was made much better after the excitement at the candy shop.

“Me neither!” his father nodded in agreement, “Have you been upstairs to see your grandparents?”

“No, not yet,” Charlie followed his father into the kitchen, “I was telling mum about the man who gave me a dollar, and she was telling me about the bread she’s baking.”

“Bread?” his father stepped into the kitchen area and seemed to finally realize that there was a warm waft of the baking.

“Welcome home, honey,” Charlie’s mother said warmly.

“You’re baking bread?” Charlie’s father sounded a bit frustrated.

“It’s just one loaf of bread to have something with the stew,” his mother replied.

“I thought we agreed!” his father spoke with growing heat.

“Not in front of Charlie!” his mother hissed before looking at him, “Go upstairs and check on your grandparents okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie hurried off. He did not want to be around for the brunt of any arguments anyways. They were not mean people, but his parents could be so loud when they were mad. He ignored the explosion of yelling as he made his way up the stairs.

There, lying in a shared bed were his grandparents. Both of his nans were knitting together, chatting and giggling idly. His grandfathers were relatively quiet. One had not spoken in years, remaining almost bitterly silent in his relentless feeling of distant pain. His other grandfather was alert, reading a book quietly. When he noticed that Charlie was there, he perked up and closed his book.

“Charlie!” his grandpa’s eye twinkled with delight.

His nans made delighted noises, “Charlie!”

“Come over here boy! Give us a hug!” his grandfather put down his book and held his arms open. Charlie quickly went around giving each of them hugs.

Charlie rounded the bed to his other grandfather’s side. The man seemed to wake up out of his trance and held out his arms. Charlie bent down to hug the silent man, accepting the embrace and a gentle pat on his head.

“Charlie, come here!” his other grandpa beckoned him over. He hurried around the bed as his grandpa opened his book. He shifted his glasses as he adjusted the pages to show Charlie a picture.

“What’s that, grandpa?” Charlie pointed to the strange picture. It was hard to see what he was looking at.

“It’s a picture of a submarine,” his grandfather traced a line, “This is the underbelly of it. If you look there, that’s the hatch.”

“Have you ever been in a submarine before, grandpa?” Charlie asked.

“I have, Charlie,” his grandpa set the book aside, “When I was your age, I visited a museum. They had all sorts of things from the Navy and old ships. My favorite was the submarine.”

“Is that why you joined the Navy?” Charlie asked.

“That and…other reasons too…” his grandpa bobbed his head.

“Oh! Tell him the story of the time you were shipwrecked and thought you were stuck on a deserted island!” his nan giggled. His other nan giggled along.

“I told the boy that one last week,” his grandpa said.

“You can tell it again, grandpa,” Charlie assured him, “I don’t mind.”

“I’d rather hear about your day, Charlie,” his grandpa argued.

“Well, a nice man on the street gave me a dollar,” Charlie told him excitedly.

“Really? What for?” his grandpa asked.

“He said I should buy a Wonka bar,” Charlie explained with a big grin, “The news people were talking about a big tour that Mr. Wonka is giving. He thought I should try to win. I guess nobody told him that the candy bars don’t have golden tickets yet.”

“Golden tickets?” his nans looked at each other with bizarre confusion.

“Yea, and everybody wants one,” Charlie explained, “There’s only five though.”

“Those are poor odds,” one of his nans muttered.

“Oh what would you know?” his grandfather playfully swatted her.

“I would, because I’m the better of us both at math,” she said to him, with such a cheeky smile.

Charlie just smiled. Nan sometimes helped him with math homework. She was pretty smart when it came to numbers. He thought it was a shame that his parents did not think so and never asked nan for any help with number work.

“I probably have no chance at winning it, do I?” Charlie asked his nan.

“Don’t be silly Charlie,” she patted his cheek, “If you have a chocolate bar, then the chance is the same as anybody else’s chocolate bar to have a golden ticket.”

“Well, the candy store man said that they don’t have the ones with the tickets yet,” Charlie explained, “It starts Monday.”

“Monday?” his grandpa whistled, “Not a lot of time to save for a candy bar. Good thing you got that dollar!”

“Yea!” Charlie pulled the chocolate bar from his pocket and showed it to them.

His grandpa looked somehow disappointed, “Charlie? You spent it already?”

“I went into the store to buy a chocolate,” Charlie broke the chocolate in its wrapper so it would be easy to share, “I don’t think I’ll win a golden ticket. I do think that I’ll enjoy eating chocolate with my family.”

“I do enjoy chocolate,” his grandpa admitted humbly.

“You’re such a thoughtful boy, Charlie,” his nan reached over to rub his head.

He opened the wrapper and gave them each a piece. He made sure that there would be plenty to share with his mother and father. He went around the bed to put a piece in his other grandfather’s hand. Now, the man seemed completely unresponsive, his eyes distant as if he was not there anymore.

“There you go,” Charlie gently patted his grandfather’s head, “You can enjoy it later.” He walked back around the bed to join his livelier grandfather.

“Charlie, we appreciate what you’ve done here,” his grandpa put a gentle hand on his back, “But you must understand that you squandered a chance. A chance for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

“Well, if you bought a bar on Monday, there is a chance, however small, that there would be a golden ticket for you in it,” his grandfather explained.

“And if you bought the candy bar today then there is no chance that you’ll find a golden ticket,” his nan added, gnawing at her piece of dark chocolate.

“Oh! But I can buy a chocolate bar on Monday!” Charlie exclaimed, as he dug into his pocket.

“Charlie,” his grandfather’s tone was somber.

Charlie quickly procured the dollar to show them. They were aghast for a minute. They seemed a bit perplexed.

“Charlie? You got another dollar?” his other nan asked curiously.

“No! When I went into the shop, the candy shop man said I should buy a candy on Monday, like you said,” Charlie gestured to his grandfather, “But I really wanted the chocolate. It’s nice to have something sweet. Dad’s been tired and I think after he settles down he’ll enjoy some chocolate.”

“Then how did you buy this chocolate?” his grandfather asked.

“Well, the man at the store said that I could have it,” Charlie assured him.

“He did?” his grandfather took his arm and gave him a stern look, “You didn’t steal it?”

“Of course not! I tried to pay for it, but he insisted I take it!” Charlie pressed.

His grandfather let go of his arm and gently rubbed his back, “Such kindness comes not very often. Two people were kind to you in one day. You won’t find that often.”

“The chances are mathematically low,” his nan shook her head as she returned to her knitting, “But you’ll find that human nature likes to flaw the logic of numbers.”

“Pah! Human nature?” his grandfather spat, “Greedy men are the ones who follow nature. If they followed any logic, they would be kinder.”

“Charlie!” his mum called from down the stairs.

“Yes mum?” he called back.

“Would you please come downstairs?” his mum called to him.

“I’m coming,” he turned to his grandfather and gave him a reassuring pat. He hurried down the stairs to meet his mother and father, who were sitting at the table.

“Come sit with us, dear,” his mother beckoned him to a chair.

He hopped up into the seat and looked at each of his parents. They both looked so tired. There were rings around their eyes, and the shadows were stark against their harrowed cheeks. He was terrified to think of what could happen if they kept on like this.

“Charlie,” his father spoke softly, “Your mother told me about the candy store today.”

“Ah! Well, I didn’t get to finish telling you what happened?” Charlie said.

“Well, tell us now,” his mother encouraged him.

“Well, let me see,” Charlie paused, “I told you about the man who gave me a dollar, right?” he asked.

His mother nodded, “Yes.”

“So I went to buy some chocolate, and the shop keep said they don’t have the golden tickets yet,” he explained.

“That’s a shame,” his father replied.

“Well, I wanted the chocolate bar anyways, so I asked him for one. He gave me the chocolate and said he wouldn’t take my money,” Charlie explained.

“Wait, what?” his father looked at him.

“Yea,” Charlie nodded, “He said to take the chocolate. He said I should buy one on Monday when they have the golden tickets are in stock.”

His father rose to his feet and sucked a deep breath. His mother was quickly to speak up, “Don’t start with this now.”

“Don’t start? These people are trying to manipulate our son!” his father argued.

“Lower your voice,” his mother said sternly.

“I-” his father quickly dropped his tone to something softer, “I will not have people get Charlie’s hopes up just so they can make a buck off of him.”

“What are they going to make off a boy?” his mother argued.

“I don’t know. They think we’re made of money!” his father ran his hands through his hair.

“Settle down!” his mother protested, gesturing to his father’s previous seat.

“I don’t think you’re made of money,” Charlie argued.

His father finally sat back down, “No, I know that, Charlie. You’re a smart lad. I wouldn’t think so little of you. But you must understand that the world is full of people who want something from you.”

“You mean greed?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, greed,” his father nodded, “They are greedy people, and you must be very careful.”

“I don’t think the man who gave me the dollar was being greedy,” Charlie argued, “He doesn’t win anything from giving me a dollar.”

“That’s…true,” his father relented.

“And the candy man gave me the bar,” Charlie explained, “I still have the dollar. On Monday when I buy another bar like he said, I’ll have bought two candy bars with the dollar the nice man gave to me.”

“Well…I suppose…” his father stared at the table for a long time, before meeting Charlie’s eye again, “Just don’t get your hopes too high. Okay? Don’t think that there is likely to be a golden ticket in the chocolate you get on Monday.”

“Oh, I know that, dad,” Charlie assured him, “I’m not buying it for the ticket. I just want to buy another chocolate to share.” He pulled out the candy bar and opened up the wrapper to share with them. “Have some!”

“How about we save the rest of that for after dinner,” his mother insisted.

“Ah! Good idea,” his nodded in agreement.

The rest of the evening was spent talking about different things. He spent a while talking to his grandfather about the book he was reading. He wondered about the submarines, but thinking about being trapped on one was too frightening.

After his grandparents turned in for the night, he went to finish prepping for bed himself. He was laying in his bed when his mother came to see him. She sat down on the edge of the bed and gently stroked his hair.

“Did you have a nice day, Charlie?” she spoke in such a soft sweet voice.

“Well, I didn’t like my class today,” Charlie replied softly.

“Why not?’ she asked with intrigue in her voice.

“Mr. Schwartz said something I didn’t understand,” he began relaying the entirety of his day to her, as she listened.

When he finished, she quietly said, “Well, I think Mr. Schwartz is trying to say that he can’t always be there for you. I think like your father, he wants you to be tough and ready for when the world is too harsh to be kind.”

“But it’s not how it is all the time!” Charlie protested.

His mother softly shushed him, “I think he means well. I know your father means well. But they all forget that you are still young. You are still small. You are not tough, and you’re not meant to be.”

“I can be tough!” Charlie protested.

His mother ran her fingers through his hair again, “I know you can be brave. I know you can be strong and resilient. But I want none of the resilience of hardship for you. You shouldn’t have to toughen up to survive this world. You’re going to be able to do great things someday, with thoughtfulness and kindness. Don’t ever forget those things, okay Charlie? People are not just an interest, they are your community, your family.”

“I won’t forget,” Charlie whispered as he closed his eyes.

His mother leaned closed and kissed his forehead. He took a deep breath and relaxed into the old bed. He was too tired to think about how comfortable he was in this old bed.

“Good night, Charlie,” he heard his mother speak softly.


End file.
